Excerpts From A Scrapbook Of Memories
by SpobyFicStalker
Summary: "He laughed loudly, and she failed to suppress a grin. Thank God her husband seemed to find this whole situation funny more than anything else." Spencer and Toby. Scenes of parenthood. Threeshot.
1. Part One

A/N: I would like to dedicate this story to anyone who's ever taken the taken to tell me they love the triplets and would like to see more of them. This is for you. (And for those who would prefer something else, I apologize. Again. LOL. Blame Marlene King for my lack of inspiration.) It's a series of random scenes from their childhood – some I've had in my head for years; others are relatively new. It could have been posted as a oneshot, but I personally prefer it in three parts. I promise to be quick with updates. :)

Before I forget: thank you all for reading/reviewing my last story! I love you for staying with me and for being patient with my finicky ass.

* * *

 **Excerpts From A Scrapbook Of Memories**

Toby Cavanaugh took great pride in the fact that his wife barely ever touched the laundry. Over the years, it had gradually shifted from a task they shared to one he took over on his own while she gravitated towards other things. With the exception of when he was away for work – which he tried to limit to only a few times a year anyway – their laundry load was pretty much all his doing.

He liked to think he'd gotten pretty good at it over the years. He knew all Spencer's favorite smells, and dutifully avoided the brands that irritated Eloise's exceptionally sensitive skin. When or Hanna or Emily or Aria called with a laundry question, he would smirk with satisfaction when his wife handed the phone over to him. And for once in her life, Spencer seemed to have no problem not knowing the answers.

He was separating the whites from the darks, enjoying the familiar sounds of Spencer puttering around in the next room, when she was interrupted by one of their youngsters.

"Mommy," she said importantly. "When I grow up, I'm going to live in a purple castle."

Toby could see neither Spencer nor Cleo, but he grinned widely anyway. He adored overhearing the random conversations between his wife and one or more of their children. At three years old, they were becoming so articulate. They were starting to reason; they were starting to make links in their minds, and it tickled him to no end to get firsthand insight to how their youthful brains worked.

"Really?" Spencer answered matter-of-factly, and he liked that no matter the crazy stuff that came out of their mouths she always took them seriously.

"Yes," Cleo went on happily. "I'm going to have three cats, a dog, a gerbil and a unicorn."

"That sounds nice," came Spencer's reply, and Toby heard the smile in her voice even though she was probably distracted with whatever task she was trying to complete.

"Very nice," Cleo agreed. "I'm going to have a girl and a boy. The girl's name is going to be Sophie."

"Well, what about the boy?" Spencer requested. He'd noticed before that her tone of voice changed slightly depending on which child she was talking to. With Lawrence, she would often – unconsciously, he was sure – match the excitement in his tone. With Eloise, her voice would become soft and tranquil, almost as if she were afraid that speaking too loudly would scare her away. With Cleo, she was her truest self. If Toby was honest, the conversations between Spencer and Cleo were the ones that usually intrigued him the most.

"I haven't decided yet. It's a very important decision," Cleo spoke wisely, and Toby's heart filled with adoration for this tiny human.

"That's very true," Spencer agreed. "But isn't there anything else you'd like to be besides a mommy?"

"Well, I'm also going to be the President of America," Cleo declared like it was obvious, and Toby reflexively chuckled as he heard his wife do the same. At least they knew their daughter had ambition.

"Of course you are," Spencer replied fondly.

Cleo had not finished planning her future. "I'm going to have a purple wedding."

"Yes, purple's your color, isn't it? Who are you going to marry?"

At this, Cleo laughed zestfully as if she were being asked the silliest question in the world. "That's easy! I'm going to marry Daddy."

Toby nearly choked on the water bottle he happened to be taking a sip from. He deeply regretted that he'd been unable to catch Spencer's initial reaction, but when he jumped up and peered at her through the doorway he was pleased to see her mouth still hanging half open in astonishment.

"Hey," she protested weakly. "What about me?"

"Oh…" Cleo's little face looked puzzled, as if she'd never given it any thought. She recovered quickly. "Don't worry, Mommy. You can live with us, too."

"Well, thanks a lot," Spencer responded dryly, after which she noticed him and their eyes met. "Did you hear what she just…?"

Before he had the chance to answer, Cleo leaped into his arms and he only caught her just in time.

"Daddy," she said cheerfully, squeezing her arms around his neck and pressing a slobbery kiss to his cheek. He blew a raspberry in her neck and tickled her until she shrieked with laughter. Then he grinned, kissing her head before setting her down on the floor and watching affectionately as she skipped off in search of her brother and sister.

His feet dragged him over to Spencer, letting his arms slowly come around her and enjoying the way she reflexively leaned into his body.

"She's such a Daddy's girl," she said wistfully, her hands coming to rest lightly on his shoulders as she glanced at the doorway their pint-sized daughter had disappeared off into.

"Sometimes," Toby allowed. "When she's not being Little Miss Independent."

"This better not be foreshadowing for you leaving me for a younger woman," Spencer muttered suddenly, and someone who didn't know her like he did might have missed the gentle teasing despite the fact that her tone seemed dead serious.

He scoffed and brushed his lips against the soft skin on her throat. "Like that'll ever happen."

No other woman would ever do, he thought. And it wasn't as if any other woman would ever want him anyway.

"This is what I get for choosing a great dad for my kids, huh?" she smirked. "I can't remember ever wanting to marry my father. Which is probably a good thing since I married the complete opposite."

He kissed her, slowly and languidly. "This conversation is getting weird," he mumbled against her lips, and she laughed delightedly.

Yes, Toby Cavanaugh took great pride in the fact that his wife barely ever touched the laundry. He honestly had no problem fully taking on that chore if it meant she could have more time for her career, for her children or even for herself.

However, he took even more pride in the fact that after fifteen years together he could still make her laugh without even having to try.

* * *

Toby and Eloise walked up to the unfamiliar house together. Her little hand held his tightly, and she continued to put one foot bravely in front of the other as she took in her surroundings with vulnerable eyes.

He and Spencer had always known this day would come. Their four-year-old triplets were for the most part inseparable, but sooner or later they would find their own friends and get invited to separate birthday parties and play dates and sleepovers. All of this was expected – the only part that threw them for a loop was that the first time it happened, it was Eloise. Somehow, they hadn't quite anticipated _that_.

It was a Saturday, and their turn to help coach Lawrence's soccer practice. Since Spencer knew infinitely more about soccer – and all sports, really – than he did, the discussion on who would accompany Eloise to the birthday party was short-lived. Cleo would tag along with her mother and brother. Spencer had offered her the position of assistant coach, and Toby had a feeling she would take over the entire practice if they let her.

The party was already in full motion by the time he and Eloise stepped over the threshold. Kids were running all over the place in elation, and parents (mostly mothers, Toby noted) huddled around the coffee table. His own child seemed completely overwhelmed at the chaos she was met with. She immediately leaned against his legs when he sat down in the chair he was offered, her hands coming to rest in his lap. Five of her tiny fingers wrapped around one of his for added security as she silently observed the scene before her. She knew all these kids from school, yet it was as if the foreign environment completely threw her off.

Not for the first time, Toby was made conscious of how fundamentally different she was to most other children – including _his_ other children, who wouldn't have hesitated to join the fun.

He took a long look at her and felt his heart subsequently melt in his chest. She looked like an angel in her baby blue party dress that impeccably matched the color of her eyes. Spencer had French braided only the very front of her wispy blonde hair back and left the rest down to fall down her shoulders, and she'd added a blue bow to complete the look. Their child easily could have stepped out of a page of a catalogue, and when he'd told Spencer that she smiled and said yearningly, "I wish we could put her in bubble wrap instead."

He gently rubbed Eloise's back with his free hand. "Don't you want to go play with your friends?"

She shook her head, and he let it go. He had his own memories of clinging to his mother's skirt, of burying his face in her shoulder when strangers looked at him and of crying when she dropped him off at preschool. His father's continuous insistencies for him to "man up" had only made things worse, and Toby would sacrifice a limb before he upset his kids by forcing their independence when they weren't ready.

When the birthday girl's mother revealed the first activity, Toby wanted to kiss her feet for choosing something that was right up his daughter's alley. All the kids were given large pieces of cardboard paper and were told they got to design their own party hats. Eloise was still glued to his side, but when she caught whiff of the crayons and markers spread out across the table he could tell her interest had been piqued.

"Go on," he urged softly. "I'll be right here the whole time, I promise."

She hesitated, looking from the table of kids to him to the table again. Then she slowly released his finger, took bold steps and settled down in front of the piece of paper that had her name on it. She reached for a crayon, and Toby swallowed hard – partly because of the pride he always felt whenever one of his kids successfully conquered a challenge, and partly because he looked around at the other parents and felt suddenly alone and faced the undeniable reality that he was just as lost without her as she was without him.

Spencer came to greet them at the door when they arrived home a few hours later. Eloise ran to her happily, and Spencer kissed her cheek and murmured, "Hi, peanut. Did you have fun at the party?"

She smiled and nodded, holding up her goody bag for her mother to see. Spencer spent a minute looking through it with her before suggesting she go show her siblings. Then she turned to him, and he'd barely planted a kiss on her lips when she asked, "How'd she do?"

He squeezed her hip reassuringly. "Great. Perfect. At first I thought I was going to have to surgically remove her from my leg but then she warmed up and participated in all the games."

"Oh thank God." Spencer looked sincerely relieved for about half second before looking at him inquisitively. Her hand slid up his chest to his cheek. "What about you? How'd you do?"

He chuckled at how well she knew him. "Good, I guess. The moms said a whole bunch of nice things about my kid so that kind of made it easier."

"Really?" Spencer asked curiously. "What did they say?"

"One told me she was beautiful, three commented on how genuinely sweet she is and pretty much all of them had something to say about _this_ ," he replied, holding up the party hat their daughter had designed.

Spencer's mouth fell open at the intricate patterns, shocking detail and stunning color combinations. They had known for a while that this was where Eloise was truly in her element, but that didn't mean her raw talent didn't still catch them off guard at times.

"You know what?" Spencer said simply. "She _is_ beautiful, and she _is_ sweet. But I'm so glad people recognize her for more than just that."

Toby kissed her again in consensus.

* * *

"Crap!"

Her son's voice echoed in the hallway, and Spencer swore, too – though much quieter than him. It did not go unnoticed by her husband.

He smirked wordlessly at her, and it was enough to make her blood boil. "I know. This is all my fault."

"I didn't say anything," he protested.

"Your face said at all," she contradicted him testily. "Help me out instead of laughing at me."

"Lawrence," Toby called, and she felt an odd kind of gratitude for his compliance. "We've asked you not to say that, please."

"Crap!" Lawrence laughed. "Crap! Crap! Crap!"

Toby looked at her and shrugged helplessly. Ever since their son had overheard his mother sputter that word as she was trying to put on her makeup in the car on their way to Rosewood, he'd taken a great liking to it.

They hadn't been too concerned when he laughed hysterically from his car seat and said it again and again. They figured he'd probably forget about it soon enough, as five-year-olds do. But to Spencer's horror, he'd exclaimed it loudly several hours later in the middle of her parents' dining room.

"I'm the worst mom in the world," she'd told her husband miserably in a private moment a little while later, still feeling mortified as she remembered the shocked expressions on the faces of her parents, sister and brother-in-law. Toby looked skeptical.

"You're not even the worst mom in this room," he answered flatly, eyeing Veronica and Melissa standing just a few feet away.

Cleo and Eloise had repeated it, too – though not within the walls of the sacred Hastings' Manor, thankfully, and Eloise only once. Always the easy one when it came to discipline, she had stopped when they simply asked her not to say it again. Cleo had gone along with her brother's hilarity for a day or two, but had eventually knocked it off when they simply ignored the behavior.

With Lawrence, nothing worked – not that they hadn't tried. They tried explaining that Mommy said a bad word and asked him not follow her example, which went completely over his head. They tried being stern with him, which – for some reason – he didn't take seriously. They tried ignoring it, but what worked like a charm on Cleo didn't work at all on Lawrence. He didn't seem bothered by the fact that no one was reacting to this beautiful word he had discovered, and a week after the incident he was still joyously using it multiple times a day. Even his teachers had commented on it, which made Spencer feel even more humiliated than she already did.

"We're lucky he didn't hear you say anything worse," Toby poked fun at her now, and she scowled.

She quickly checked to make sure all three kids were out of earshot before muttering at him, "Fuck that, I'm not listening to this shit."

He laughed loudly, and she failed to suppress a grin. Thank God her husband seemed to find this whole situation funny more than anything else.

"Crap!"

She swallowed the urge to scream, and with that the last ounce of her patience ebbed away. "That's it."

She got up and returned to the kitchen a few seconds later, holding their son by the hand. She sat him down across from her, deliberately ignoring the bewildered and somewhat curious look on Toby's face. Lawrence, on the other hand, seemed relaxed as ever. He grinned eagerly, as if this was some kind of game.

He wasn't wrong, she thought.

"Lawrence Cavanaugh, listen carefully. I'm going to need you to repeat that word for me one hundred times."

His face broke out in delight. "One hundred?"

"One hundred. Daddy's going to count." She looked to Toby for confirmation, who instantly nodded. "Go."

He started enthusiastically. He sing-songed, almost, causing Spencer to hope and pray this wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass. Cleo could be defiant as well – more so than Lawrence in most cases – but at least she was predictable. Lawrence was a shot in the dark every time.

For a long while, he didn't miss a beat. But when he was about halfway, she noted a slight lull in his energy. He went on unperturbed, but Spencer noticed he was getting distracted. The novelty was starting to wear off. His eyes no longer looked straight into hers in glee but past her to the window outside, and she felt a sense of triumph.

It was working.

At sixty-five, he struggled. He fidgeted in his chair, sighed between words and clenched and re-clenched his little fists.

"Come on, bubba. You can do it," she prodded gently.

It gave him newfound strength, as he sat up straighter and picked up his pace again, but it didn't last very long. By eighty, it was abundantly clear he was over it.

"Almost there," Spencer continued to encourage him. "You can't give up now. It's your favorite word, remember?"

She had to guide him through the last ten, and when he finally made it she found herself smiling at him. "Good job, honey," she praised lightly. And then, "Come here."

She reached for him and settled him in her lap. He leaned against her drowsily, and she slowly rocked him back and forth while resting her chin on his head. Toby handed him a glass of water, which he gulped down in three seconds flat before slipping down and announcing he was going to finish playing with his Legos.

She watched him disappear, and when she looked back at Toby she noticed he was smiling at her almost reverently.

"You're a genius, you know that?"

She shrugged. "We'll see. He might forget all about this and go back to his old ways tomorrow."

He didn't. Fifteen years later, he was sitting at that very same kitchen table when his sister knocked over her glass of iced tea.

"Crap," she hissed, reaching for a rag to mop up the mess, and Lawrence winced.

"Elle," he said painfully. "Swear all you want, I don't care. Just please don't use that word?"

Spencer felt the victory like it was yesterday.


	2. Part Two

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews/favorites/follows and just reading in general!

For the anon who asked if I'd consider writing Spoby pre-triplets again: never say never, but I don't see it happening in the near future. I'm not sure I remember how, to be honest. I get them mixed up with Spoby on the show, and it sadly just sucks all the energy out of me. Sorry. :(

Here's part two of three. Just a heads up for my new readers (if I have any): you probably need to read A Fortunate Stroke Of Serendipity to fully appreciate one segment in this chapter. I get embarrassed at the idea of shamelessly promoting my own work, but to avoid confusion I just wanted to let you guys know.

* * *

As a mother, Spencer had those moments where it was as if she saw everything go wrong in slow motion. In reality it was no more than a few seconds, but to her perception it seemed like time slowed everything down so she could see things shatter in excruciating detail and somehow still be helpless to stop it.

The last time she'd felt this happen was a year ago, when Cleo fell down the ladder to the tree house Toby had built them in the back yard. She'd watched her child hit just about every step before finally hitting the grass, her arm underneath her and a low wail escaping her lips. She'd been in a cast for weeks, and for at least as long Spencer had seen her fall over and over again when she closed her eyes.

This time, the circumstances were far less sensational. No one was bleeding or banged up. They were all enjoying a nice summer afternoon with her parents, and so far there had been refreshingly little drama. Yet, when she saw her father's arm reach out, newspaper in hand, ready to squash the little black spider that scampered across the picnic table in front of young, sensitive blue eyes, her world stopped cold.

She opened her mouth to cry out but the word got stuck in her throat. There was a time when her father's actions easily could have been her own, but that was before she'd seen that kind of thing first unsettle her husband and then absolutely agonize one of her kids.

Even before the paper hit the table, her ears filled with Eloise's shrill scream.

" _No_!"

Everyone froze, and Spencer's hands covered her mouth in horror. It was a sound that would have been chilling out of any child but especially out of this quiet, sweet-tempered one who usually preferred to stay under the radar.

For a second or two, Spencer thought she could hear a pin drop. Eloise looked at her grandfather with shock and betrayal and sorrow etched across her face before a deep, deafening sob escaped her throat.

"Grandpa, why, why, why," she wept. "What did he ever do to you?"

Spencer only realized her feet were moving when she numbly noticed the distance between herself and Eloise closing. Her children had passed the age where she could comfortably lift them off the ground – not that there was much need for it anymore, under usual circumstances – but now she scooped her seven-year-old up in her arms without breaking a sweat. Eloise collapsed into her neck, and Spencer crumbled at the unclothed grief in her tears – grief not only for the tiny, eight-legged creature that was no more, but also for the incomprehension that someone she knew and loved could be so heartless as to kill it without even the slightest consideration for its life.

Spencer's eyes locked with her father's as she gently patted her devastated daughter's back in a helpless attempt to calm her. He looked rattled, for sure, and… guilty? Spencer swore she saw a hint of guilt before her undoubtedly accusatory expression threw him on the defensive. He shrugged at her, and Spencer wanted to throttle him.

A strong hand connected with her back and a familiar body radiated heat from behind her. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt Toby's presence, drawing more strength from his touch than he would ever know. Lawrence and Cleo gathered around her too, rallying around their sister who had cried herself out and rested lifelessly in Spencer's arms now.

She turned her head to meet Toby's eyes, and they had one of those quick, wordless conversations that the logical part of her brain couldn't grasp were even possible. Then she brushed her lips against her daughter's blonde head. "Go with Daddy, honey."

The transition happened easily as Eloise allowed Toby to take her, latching onto him the same way she had with Spencer before. Spencer's eyes fixated on her father, and her gaze didn't waver as she added, "Lawrence, Cleo? Go with Daddy, please."

They sensed the tension in her voice and didn't object, picking up their pace to follow Toby. She waited till he disappeared into the house with all three kids to open her mouth. Unfortunately, her father beat her to it.

"She's going to need to grow a thicker skin if she's going to function in this world."

"Stop it," she warned him. "She's happy and healthy and doesn't have to change anything about who she is, especially not to please _you_."

Despite her convincing words, she faltered. Her father had unintentionally poked at one of her most touchy subjects, and all her insecurities about parenting Eloise came to the surface of her consciousness. Were they doing the right thing by encouraging her gentleness? By protecting her in ways they knew Lawrence and Cleo would probably never need?

Or were they setting her up for unimaginable heartbreak when she realized most of the world wasn't as intrinsically good-natured as she was?

"Look," Peter interrupted her turmoil. "She's my granddaughter and I love her to death. You know that. But she needs to toughen up a little. You don't see Lawrence or Cleo freaking out over a dead bug, do you?"

"Yeah, God forbid she doesn't fit into your cookie-cutter Hastings ideas of what's acceptable and what isn't," Spencer replied in a hard voice, the hair in the back of her neck rising at her father's need to compare her children.

As quickly as her doubts had appeared, they vanished into thin air. She could try to make her father see that traits like sensitivity, introversion and shyness weren't actually personality flaws – Toby was proof of that, because he was all three and the most perfect human being she'd ever come across in her life – but she had a feeling it would fall on deaf ears.

Instead, she cut to the chase. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to apologize. You're going to tell her you don't know what you were thinking. You're going to bury that spider with her, and you're going to do your best to make its death meaningful. And most importantly, you're never going to do anything like that in front of her again."

Peter Hastings was not a man who was used to being told what to do. He looked momentarily flustered, but then – somewhat to her surprise – relented resignedly. "Fine. She's your kid. Not mine."

He turned away from her, missing the final words she muttered under her breath. "Thank God for that."

* * *

When Lawrence first announced he'd like a turtle for his tenth birthday, Toby and Spencer shared a brief _ain't he cute_ look across the dinner table. In contrary to Cleo or even Eloise, their son didn't tend to get fixated on things. He loved soccer one day and basketball the next, rarely went for the same ice cream flavor twice and only attached himself to few of his possessions. He often desired the most outrageous things that he promptly forgot about the next day.

But, as they soon learned, this was different.

For weeks, a turtle was all he would talk about. He pestered anyone who would listen with ridiculous overflows of information that he got from library books, drew pictures that he hung up on walls and even crafted something that looked suspiciously like a turtle out of a toilet paper roll. They were not used to this level of obsession for their son, and Toby could tell his wife was in the most extreme form of denial.

"What are we going to do about this turtle situation?" he asked her one night after the kids had gone to bed, and Spencer gave him a funny look.

"What do you mean?"

"He really wants a turtle, Spencer," he stated the obvious. "Shouldn't we at least talk about it?"

She seemed baffled now. "Do you honestly think can handle that? He can't even keep his room clean – how are we supposed to trust him with a real, living, breathing creature?"

She was right, of course. Still, he protested feebly, "I've never seen him so passionate about anything in his life."

"Not the point, Toby," she sighed. "A pet requires a lot of work, and I just don't think he's ready. And you know what would happen? Cleo would take over, because she thrives on responsibility. Or Eloise because she doesn't want him to get in trouble."

Again, she was right – but for some reason he couldn't let go. He brought it up again as they slid in bed hours later, after having given it some more thought. "What if we use this to teach him responsibility and consequences?"

When Spencer looked doubtful, he continued. "If he keeps his room clean for a month, puts his shoes away, gets his homework done before dinner… would you consider it?"

She didn't answer right away. "I'd be damn impressed if he kept that up for a month. So yes. Maybe."

Then she suddenly pressed herself closer to him, smiling as her hands brushed up against his chest and her lips connected with the corner of his mouth. "You're such a softie," she murmured, and he smiled back because there was adoration and approval in her voice more than anything else.

They were going to tell him together, but the next day as Toby got so excited as he drove Lawrence to baseball practice that he spilled the beans then and there. The young boy was ecstatic, unbuckled himself to hug his father despite Toby's warnings not to, and must have expressed his gratitude close to a million times. His joyous mood lasted throughout the evening as he went to hug Spencer too when he arrived home. Toby could tell his enthusiasm was starting to wear off on his mother, but he also knew that if his son didn't hold up his end of the bargain it would remain out of the question. He hoped he'd made that part clear enough.

As it turned out, Lawrence pulled the rug from underneath them all. Of course he needed a reminder here and there, but overall his parents could see a will to get himself organized that wasn't there before. Toby felt immense pride as he watched his child get a hold on habits that didn't come naturally to him, and effectively work towards something he desired. Even Spencer was inspired, and admitted to Toby, "Sometimes your kids surprise you."

"Does that mean you're on board with this turtle thing?" he asked casually, and her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Why do I get the feeling you want this almost as badly as he does?"

Toby felt put on the spot and briefly considered denying it, but then he mumbled, "I always wanted a pet when I was a kid and my dad never let me have one."

A slight smirk formed on her lips at the confirmation of her instincts, but it was void of any real mirth. Any mention of his father tended to soften her up, and she sighed. "Well. I guess that's good news for me, because if our son fails miserably at this it means you get to pick up the pieces and live out your childhood fantasy."

"He's not going to fail miserably at this," he vowed with a returning grin, "but fair enough."

He really had to give her credit for the way she laid down the law to Lawrence the next day. She was supportive and let him know they believed in him, but she didn't sugarcoat their expectations.

"This animal is going to be your responsibility till the day it dies," she informed him. "Once we take it in there's no turning back, and turtles can live for a very long time. You're going to feed it, play with it, clean out its tank and report when it's sick so we can take it to the vet. That's a really big job, bubba. Are you positive it's what you want?"

He didn't have to think about it. He looked them both straight in the eye with more gravity than they weren't used to from him and said, "Yes."

They tended to go full out for the kids' birthday, simply because they had three children and only one birthday to celebrate. They were given brand new scooters – a surprise they fully appreciated since they'd all grossly outgrown their old ones. He and Spencer both had a soft spot for books, and were very generous with them for the kids at all celebratory occasions. Cleo received a new pair of riding boots, and Eloise the set of watercolors they'd caught her eyeing at the store more than once. After school they all headed for the pet store, and Toby could tell even Spencer was skittish with anticipation. Lawrence fell in love with a tiny, green turtle that was no bigger than the palm of his hand, and they knew instantly that it was a done deal and that they were in this for the long haul.

All three kids played with it for the rest of the evening, their shiny new scooters forgotten for now, and at one point just after dinner Toby caught Spencer observing them carefully. He moved behind her, softly rubbing her shoulders and sensing some sort of internal conflict on her part.

"You still unsure about this?" he asked, quietly so the kids wouldn't overhear.

She snorted. "I have a reptile living in my house, Toby. I'm always going to be unsure about this." But then she nodded at their son and shook her head in amused disbelief and affection. "But look at him. He's so happy."

Toby chuckled, letting his hands slide down her body to encircle her waist. "Now who's the softie," he mocked, hiding his smile by kissing her cheek.

"Stop before I make both of us cry by reflecting on the insane fact that they've been with us for ten years. Ten freaking years of Lawrence, Cleo and Eloise."

"Ouch. Touché," Toby agreed.

They postponed bringing out the birthday cake and watched their children make memories.

* * *

She was still much too thin, he thought as he watched her in the moonlight, and much too pale. She still had moments where she cried for no apparent reason, and got overwhelmed by simple tasks like getting dressed.

But she also smiled now. She snuggled with him and the kids, accepted their affection and allowed them to love her the way they'd all been so desperate to love her for months and months. He knew she feared sometimes that she wasn't getting better, but the difference to Toby was deafening and he reminded her of that whenever her world turned black. He was determined to see her through her pilgrimage to health at whatever pace she was capable of.

Insomnia still sank its claws into her from time to time, but she no longer left the bed in the middle of the night. She would turn around in his arms, pushing even closer to him so she could press a sloppy kiss against his jaw and fling a leg over both of his. He would force his droopy eyelids open just to get a glimpse of her soft brown orbs, and catch himself smiling blissfully despite the bags underneath her eyes.

Tonight, it was three-thirty in the morning and they'd been awake for over an hour. He had work in less than three, but there was no part of him that considered going back to sleep. Not when they lay together in the dark, whispering secrets like they'd only just met instead of having shared what felt like five lifetimes. So far he'd made her laugh three times, and he was contemplating how he could maybe make it four when he heard the soft creaking of their bedroom door.

He reflexively turned his head to see a small figure with long, dark hair in the doorway, and even in the shadows he could tell her posture was hesitant.

"I'm sorry, honey," he uttered apologetically. "Did we wake you?"

"No. I just couldn't sleep," she said simply, coming closer. "What are you guys doing?"

He and Spencer looked at each other for a moment, and it was she who sat up in the bed and answered. "I couldn't sleep, either. Your dad was nice enough to keep me company."

Cleo nodded, and a very faint sense of awkwardness revealed itself in the room. He saw his daughter's inner battle and his wife's subsequent torment, and he wished, oh how he wished he had the tools to fix this.

Spencer eventually asked timidly, "Do you want to crawl in with us for a while?"

Lawrence and Eloise would have been in their bed in the blink of an eye at the invitation. A few months ago Cleo would have too, but now she only shook her head half-heartedly. "No, thanks."

Toby's heart sank.

"Well, then…" Spencer's eyes lowered, and the vulnerability in her voice dismantled him. "Do you want me to tuck you back in?"

"No," Cleo said again, not unkindly. "I want Daddy to."

Spencer nodded as if she'd expected as much, and Toby felt that now familiar tug between heartache for his wife's feelings and respect for his daughter's need for boundaries. He kissed Spencer's shoulder and gave her a hand a comforting squeeze before kicking the covers away. Resting his hand on Cleo's head, they made the brief journey back to the room she shared with her sister, and as he pulled the covers over her it struck him for the hundredth time that he was downright uncomfortable with how beautiful she was becoming. She wasn't even twelve, but she was looking more and more like Spencer every day with only subtle hints of him here and there.

"Dad?" came her voice quietly.

"Mm hmm?" he answered absentmindedly, tucking the comforter under her chin and checking quickly if their voices were disturbing Eloise on the other side of the room. Cleo faltered, and he kneeled down beside her bed when he took notice of the disquiet in her eyes.

"Don't hope too hard, okay?" she whispered, and he looked at her in concerned confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"If she goes back to being sad…" A troubled look crossed her face. "If she doesn't come out of bed like she used to, you're going to be heartbroken all over again. Lawrence and Ellie, too. And I don't want that."

She suddenly seemed so much older than eleven, almost like a full-grown adult speaking to him from a child's mouth. His whole body ached for her because between Eloise, whose sweetness was so obvious it had prompted even strangers to comment on it ever since she was a baby, and Lawrence, who had a big heart for people in general, he knew that even their closest friends and family tended to underestimate how fiercely, protectively and overpoweringly Cleo loved.

He brushed his daughter's hair back from her temple and briefly touched his forehead to hers. "It's not your job to worry about me," he spoke in a hushed tone. "Or your siblings. It's your job to be a kid and have fun and get in trouble. But not too much," he added warningly, which elicited a small smile from her.

He sighed deeply before he continued, because finally he understood that the reason she was keeping her mother at arm's length was because she was terrified of getting hurt again. "I know things have been hard around here, and I'm so, so sorry, pumpkin. But have a little faith, okay? Your mom is the strongest person I've ever met. I've known her for a _really_ long time, and I know she can get herself out of this. We just need to be patient and supportive."

She nodded uncertainly, and he kissed her forehead. "I love you. Want me to stay for a while?"

"No, it's okay." Again, he was taken aback by the sudden maturity she embodied. It impressed the shit out of him but he also kind of hoped he had his little girl back tomorrow. "You can go back to Mom."

He nodded and pressed another kiss against her head before wishing her goodnight and quietly making his way back to his own bed. Spencer was lying on her back looking pensive when he crawled back in with her. He settled himself all the way against her body with his arm slung across her waist and his nose buried in her neck.

He waited for her to ask, and it wasn't long before she did. "Is she okay?"

"Yes," he promised. Then he sighed and gently pulled at her hip. "Come here."

She let herself be completely engulfed by him. The joy of being so physically close to her again still hadn't completely worn off, and he placed a series of lazy kisses along her brow.

They cuddled in silence for several minutes before Spencer finally spoke. "I just hope that one day she can forgive me."

He closed his eyes and brushed another kiss against her forehead, his tone nostalgic as he told her, "Have a little faith."

The irony of that fact that this phrase with still fresh in his mind was not lost on him. Spencer and Cleo were two peas in a pod, and that alone left him convinced they would find their way back to each other sooner rather than later.

She pouted slightly. "I struggle with having faith. It's not rational."

"Neither is love," he pointed out, "and you don't struggle with love at all."

"Good point," she admitted. Then she looked up at him and his heart nearly burst because oh God – she smiled. A smile that lit up her eyes and revealed her pearly white teeth and everything. "I love, love, love you."

He kissed her and the rest was history.


	3. Part Three

A/N: Thanks again, all you wonderful people, for your endless patience and encouragement. Here is the third and final installment. I don't really have anything to add except I love you and you're the reason I'm still doing this.

* * *

"Mom, Dad, I'm leaving, see you later!" Cleo called out, and Spencer could already hear the front door opening.

"Hold it," she deadpanned. "Come here a minute, please."

She heard Cleo's teenage footsteps dragging closer somewhat wearily, and looked to Toby to see if he knew more about their daughter's plans. He shrugged and shook his head, and his clueless expression told her he, too, was unaware of what Cleo was up to on this Friday night.

Their daughter appeared in the doorway, and Spencer almost did a double take. She was wearing a bright red dress that easily flattered her dark complexion, had made the effort to curl her hair and had light makeup adorning her cheeks and around her eyes. Spencer struggled to reconcile that funny little girl whose first spoken sentence had been "I do it!" with the beautiful young woman that now stood before her.

"Going somewhere?" Spencer asked with raised eyebrows.

Cleo nodded and fiddled with the strap of her purse. "I have a date."

Spencer exhaled. "Cleo. You know the rules. You need to tell us about this stuff, okay? We need to know where you're going and whom you're going with."

"Yeah, I know."

Spencer waited for the typical teenage eye roll, but it didn't come. Cleo shifted her weight from one leg to the other and still didn't seem very forthcoming.

"Well?" Spencer questioned. "Who's the boy?"

Cleo hesitated. "It's not."

"Not what?"

"A boy," she finished carefully.

Silence fell over them as Spencer's brain caught up. In the back of her mind it occurred to her that her husband was apparently just as speechless and she was, and it was Cleo who eventually broke the quiet.

"Her name's Bella Lowell. She's new at my school. We've been hanging out a lot, and… and we kissed a few times. And I liked it," she added in a whisper.

Spencer got up from her chair. She walked over to her sixteen-year-old and took her in her arms, closing her eyes when she felt Cleo relax against her. She experienced that familiar heartache she always did when one of her kids revealed things about themselves that made them more vulnerable to the world. Usually it was Eloise, but it didn't make her feel any less powerless when it was Lawrence or Cleo.

Spencer held her daughter close for an intense moment; then pulled back and cleared her throat. "Same rules apply for girls. We need to know who you're going with and where you're going."

"Just to the movies," Cleo replied with a shrug. "Mom?"

"Yes?"

All of a sudden, words spilled from her mouth and it was as if she couldn't stop talking. "It's not that I didn't want to tell you guys. I'm just… really, really confused. I don't know what this means. I don't know how to feel. And I guess I wanted to wait until I knew before I told anyone. I mean other than Eloise," she added.

"It's okay," Spencer assured her, and she'd never meant anything so genuinely in her whole life. "You can be confused for as long as you want."

"Really?"

"Of course," Toby spoke from behind them, and he was standing by her side in just a few steps. He cupped their daughter's cheek in his large hand. "Whenever you figure it out is fine."

"And _whatever_ you figure out is fine," Spencer chimed in cautiously. "Whatever you decide you like or you don't like. I promise you it's all valid."

"Okay." Cleo smiled a little. "I should go or I'll be late."

"Go. Have fun," Spencer urged her, before warning, "Back by eleven."

Cleo smiled wider. She gave her mother a fleeting hug and dropped a quick kiss on her father's cheek, and with that she was out the door.

Spencer felt Toby's arm wrap around her, and her hand instinctively sought out his. "Did you see this coming?" she asked him, but before he could get a word in she fired again. "Do you think she's gay?"

"I don't know, I mean…" He shrugged. "She's dated boys before."

"So did Emily," she retaliated. "Remember Ben?"

He didn't answer but his expression distinctly darkened, and she knew Ben would probably remain carved in his brain like a scar forever.

"She could be bisexual. Or at least on the bisexual spectrum," Spencer continued.

"Maybe," he agreed, but he didn't say anything more.

"I think we should call Emily," she rambled on. "She might be able to help where we fall short. If there's anyone who has some idea of what she's going though–"

"Spencer," he interrupted her gently. "We told her she could take all the time she needed to figure it out. I don't think we should bombard her with anything right now."

"But Emily–"

"Who says she's ready for Emily to know?" he countered. "She barely seemed ready to tell _us_."

This silenced her. She was surprised by the emotion in her own voice when she finally spoke. "I just want to do something for her. I can't stand the idea of her going through this alone."

"I know," he soothed her, running his hands up and down her arms soothingly. "You always want to better the lives of the people you love. It's one of my favorite things about you, but sometimes being supportive means taking a step back and giving people space to breathe. She knows we're behind her. She knows we love her. That's the most important thing right now."

She nodded, knowing he was right. She couldn't help thinking sardonically that she was well into her forties and clearly still showed signs of being a human bulldozer. "I'll just tell her she can always call Emily if she wants."

"Good idea," Toby nodded. She remained quiet for a moment, and he stepped closer to her as his arms slowly came all the way around her.

"I know this is scary," he murmured against her hair. "I know you want to protect her from all the prejudice in the world. I do, too. But she's got a good head on her shoulders. She gets that from you, and I really think she'll be all right."

Spencer didn't know if she believed him, but she rested her head on his chest. She let his comfort wash over her and welcomed his optimism.

Cleo greeted them brightly when was arrived home at eleven on the dot, but before they could get anything out of her she disappeared up the stairs and into the room she used to share with her sister but Eloise inhabited on her own now. Spencer decided to let her girls have some alone time to share their secrets, but she couldn't resist dropping in on her dark-haired daughter before turning in for the night. Cleo was already in bed in the attic that Toby had transformed into an extra bedroom last year. She was completely lost in her book, and Spencer went to sit down on across from her on the bed.

"So? Did you have fun tonight?" she asked, hoping her daughter didn't think she was intruding.

A subtle smile played on her lips as she nodded, but then she turned serious and just the slightest bit tentative. "I really like her, Mom. A lot more than just as a friend."

Emily's words from all those years ago came back to her, and Spencer felt herself nod in acknowledgement. "You know, if you want to talk to someone who can relate I'm sure Emily would be happy to listen."

"I think I might call her," Cleo allowed after a moment. "But not just yet. I want to get used to it a little for myself first."

"Okay," Spencer relented acceptingly. "Well… Dad and I are always here if you need anything."

"I know." The good-natured eye roll that never came a few hours ago suddenly made an overly gracious appearance, and Spencer chuckled.

"Goodnight," she said, kissing her daughter's cheek. "Love you."

"Love you, too," Cleo answered reflexively, her nose stuck in her book once again, and Spencer couldn't help but think Toby was right. She would be all right.

* * *

It was a Saturday evening when they got the call.

They'd just finished tidying up around the house a little bit, and planned on falling down in front of the TV together for some Netflix. All three kids were out for the evening. This certainly wasn't unusual for Lawrence and Cleo, but even their homebody Eloise had informed them she had plans, thus leaving her parents to cuddle on the couch with no one but each other. Not that either of them considered this a huge sacrifice.

Spencer smiled to herself as she heard her husband move around in the kitchen, noting that the beeping of the microwave most likely meant he'd made them popcorn. His phone went off mere seconds later, and Spencer didn't pay very much attention until she became distinctly aware of the sharp tension in his tone.

Frowning, she made her way over until she spotted him though the doorway. The muscles in his back stood on alert, and tightness in his shoulders triggered a haunting anxiety in her. He was hanging up before she knew it, and when he turned to her the look on his face nearly made her heart stop.

"Which one?" she demanded instantly.

"Lawrence," he answered hoarsely, and she could tell he wanted to say more but she couldn't stop her mouth from moving.

"Is he hurt? What happened? _What happened_?"

She only realized she'd rushed up to him when she felt his hands clasp around her elbows. Nothing could have prepared her for the words that came out of his mouth.

"He was arrested."

An hour later, Spencer sat on the couch staring out in front of her emptily. She was still in shock, and wasn't quite sure how Toby had managed to convince her to let him go pick their son up on his own. The possibility of it all being one gigantic misunderstanding wouldn't let her go, but at the same time she knew the chances were incredibly slim and she didn't want to be one of those parents who refused to acknowledge when their kids fucked up. Whatever it was, Spencer knew she would have to embrace it.

Awful scenarios sped through her head, from shoplifting to armed robbery to manslaughter, and she wondered if she was blind, clueless and tone deaf for not being able to imagine her happy-go-lucky kid affiliated with any of that.

And then it hit her.

Was she being an unimaginable hypocrite? How many times had she been arrested as a teenager, and when had it ever felt justified?

After what felt like years and several losses of her sanity, she finally heard the familiar sounds of Toby's truck in the driveway. She couldn't move as the two most important men in her life made their way into the house. At seventeen, Lawrence was just as tall as Toby and built exactly the same, with broad shoulders and strong, muscled arms. Spencer shuddered to think of the damage he could do if he'd decided to use his physical strength against someone or something.

Telling herself to get her shit together, she rose to her feet. Lawrence halted when he saw her, with Toby right behind him. Her lips parted to say something – what, she wasn't sure – but to her surprise, Toby beat her to it.

"Spence, let him talk."

Her husband had always had something about him that caused her to listen to him when he spoke. No doubt it had to do with the fact that he was the opposite of dominant by nature, and had spent so much of their time together catering into her neuroses and trying to make her life easier. It had made her realize that when he opened his mouth, it was important.

And when she looked at them more closely, she took notice of the unspoken interactions between her husband and son. Toby didn't seem angry or even incredibly upset. His demeanor seemed more sympathetic than anything else, and he even squeezed their son's shoulder supportively after they'd both settled on the couch and Lawrence took a deep breath.

"I punched a guy," he blurted out.

Before she even had the time to process this piece of information, Toby intervened again. "You might want to start at the beginning, bud."

"Right," Lawrence said, flustered, and he straightened up a little. "It was at the bus stop, and there was this… guy. He must have been like thirty or forty, and he kept trying to talk to the girl who was sitting next to me. She clearly wasn't interested but he wouldn't take the hint, and she was really young, like my age, and she looked scared, and no one was doing anything, so I told him – and I tried to be nice about it – I told him I didn't think she liked it very much."

Lawrence's tone changed slightly as he went on. "Out of nowhere, he took a swing at me. He was so drunk–"

"He had a high level of alcohol in his blood," Toby offered up.

"–that he missed, but he kept on trying to attack me so on instinct I hit him back." Tears suddenly filled his big, brown eyes. "I… I broke his nose. There was blood everywhere, and someone called the cops."

"Did you know this girl?" Spencer needed to know, trying to understand what had even prompted him to get involved in the first place. "Is she a friend of yours from school or something?"

"Mom," he said seriously. "I'd never seen her before in my life. But I kept looking at her and I kept thinking…" His expression suddenly clouded over with something dark. "If that was Cleo or Eloise, I'd want someone to help them."

Spencer closed her mouth. Only now did she take a step back and remove her mom-glasses, and she quickly realized that Lawrence been the only bystander at that bus stop who hadn't failed humanity. She didn't quite know how or when it happened, and it hadn't even been totally conscious her part, but evidently she and Toby had raised a feminist son.

"Several witnesses came forward and testified that he didn't throw the first punch," Toby went on.

"They just felt guilty for not doing anything," Lawrence muttered, and Spencer was somewhat surprised at the insight he showed.

"The charges were dropped," Toby said quietly. "I'm sure that man's alcohol levels didn't help his case."

Spencer closed her eyes in relief. When they opened, she took notice of the fact that her son's body language was slightly apprehensive even after he'd finished relaying the events, and she realized he was still waiting for her to formulate some sort of response.

"Don't hit people. It's my job as your mom to tell you that." She looked him straight in the eye. "That being said, I've never been prouder of you in my life for sticking up for that girl. Now get over here and give me a hug."

He embraced her, and Spencer tried to remember when exactly he'd turned into a man. Or at the very least, a boy in a man's body. He was the same age Toby had been when she first sat on his porch, and while she'd always considered her son to be more of a Hastings than a Cavanaugh – physically speaking – sometimes she would notice him in the corner of her eye and think it was Toby.

Her husband reached for him, too, once she released him. He gave Lawrence a quick hug and kissed his temple, and Spencer adored how he was just as affectionate with his son as he was with daughters. Even as that son grew into adulthood.

"Why don't you head up to bed?" Toby suggested, clapping him on the shoulder. "Your sisters should be home any minute if you want to beat them to the bathroom."

He disappeared up the stairs without protest, allowing Toby to sink down on the couch next to her. An hour ago she never in a million years would have thought she'd be resting so peacefully in his arms tonight, and she didn't take it for granted as she waited for her girls to get home.

* * *

Toby had never been in the habit of not checking his caller ID before he picked up his phone, but on this dreary Thursday in October he was so swamped with paperwork that it was exactly what he did. He was met with a happy, dulcet greeting.

"Hi, Daddy."

His heart immediately softened, and the irritation he'd felt just seconds before was forgotten for now.

"Hey, Ellie. What are you up to? Everything okay?"

She murmured affirmatively, and went on to ask about him and her mother. They chatted for several minutes like nothing was wrong, but all his instincts told him there was more to it and this was not one of her catch-up calls.

Fortunately, he didn't have wait too long for her to reveal herself.

"Dad?" she asked quietly. "Remember when you and Mom dropped me off here, you said you'd come get me if I ever needed a break?"

"Of course I remember," he answered as neutrally as he could, even though his grip on his phone tightened ever so slightly.

"Well…" He sensed her indecision in every cell of his body, even if he couldn't see it. "I think I might need a break."

Concern welled up inside him, and he repeated, "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," she insisted. "I love my school, I love most of my classes… but there are so many people, everywhere, all the time. I can't ever escape them, and it's so exhausting."

Toby nodded sympathetically, not fully registering she couldn't see him. It was so easy for him to see himself in his second-born daughter. She hadn't yet seen the worst parts of mankind the way he already had by the time he was her age, but it tired her out anyway and he instantly felt for her current troubles. He'd been with Spencer all through her college years, and he couldn't count all the times he'd wondered how she wasn't losing her mind.

"I'll leave work early tomorrow," he told her gently. "Hopefully we'll be back before midnight."

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice, and the protective father in him immediately surfaced.

"Are you kidding? You're doing me a huge favor here. I can't wait to see you, and I know your mom will feel the same."

"Okay." He heard the smile in her voice. "I love you, Daddy."

If possible, his heart melted even more. "I love you, too, sweet pea."

He made his way through her hallway the next evening, his stomach tight with anticipation. He hadn't seen any of his kids since dropping them off at adulthood's doorstep over two months ago, and while he'd cursed the heavy traffic along the way the thought his baby girl easily kept him going. Knocking on Eloise's door, he peered inside and smiled.

She was lying on her bed with a book, sporting grey track pants and a messy bun. Her face lit up when she saw him and she immediately dropped everything, and as her arms wrapped around his neck his mind involuntarily flashed back to the very first time she was placed in his arms just minutes after she was born. He held her tighter as he remembered her tiny fingers and toes, her sweet baby smell and the striking blueness of her eyes.

Today, her eyes were just as blue and her hair remained the same yellowish blonde that it had been fifteen years ago – a tribute to her Grandma Marion.

They sang along to the radio, stopped for a late dinner on the way, and when evening turned into night she scooted closer to him in the truck and rested her head on his shoulder. Due to the traffic Toby had faced on the way, it was past one in the morning by the time they finally made it home.

They entered the house quietly, as not to wake Spencer. He'd texted her during dinner that they'd be later than expected and suggested she head on to bed, and when she texted back with a simple request to drive safely he fully assumed that was exactly what she'd done. He didn't know why he was even surprised to see the small lamp beside the couch still on, and his wife kicking a blanket aside as she flew to her feet. She scampered up to them happily, reaching their daughter first. She leaned her forehead against Eloise's, brushing a wisp of hair that had escaped her bun back from her face before pulling her all the way against her and holding on tight. When he looked closer, he saw his wife blink back the tears that prickled in her eyes.

Eloise had come into the world big on cuddling, and eighteen years later this hadn't changed. All their friends had been jealous as hell of them having a teenager who still wanted her parents' affection, who sat close to them for movie night and who consistently came to hug them when they came home from work.

Toby was half convinced they had forgotten all about him, so he used the opportunity to pull Eloise's suitcase further into the house. He couldn't help but appreciate her packing skills, knowing that if he'd gone to get his other daughter for the weekend he'd be dragging a suitcase twice as big. Spencer's hand reached for him as he passed her, and she released Eloise to kiss him and murmur a soft greeting before turning back to their daughter.

"Come here, sit," she instructed, leading them both to the couch. "I made tea. Do you want tea?"

She was headed towards the kitchen in high spirits before either he or Eloise could get a word in, and returned shortly with three steaming mugs. Considering the late hour, Toby had genuinely expected to come home and head straight to bed – but evidently his wife had other plans. She asked Eloise a million questions about life and school, and while this kid had never been a huge talker Toby could tell she was making an effort to put her mother's mind at ease, which included telling stories she'd already told them over the phone.

For Toby, his long day and seven hours of driving soon began to catch up with him. Spencer's mind still seemed to be going a mile a minute, but his own was starting to fog over and he felt his eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

"Go to bed," Spencer suddenly told him, patting his leg briskly and with affection. "I'm right behind you."

He smiled, almost feeling caught, and rose from the couch. He kissed his wife's head and then his daughter's, bade them both goodnight and made his way towards the stairs. Nearly at the top, he heard Eloise's voice faintly.

"Are you and Daddy okay, Mom? With us gone?"

There was slight surprise in Spencer's response, but mostly just a lot of reassurance. "Of course. We miss you, but we're powering through. We have each other." Then she added softly, "You don't need to worry about us."

He could still hear their murmured conversation as he slipped in bed, and it must have lulled him asleep sooner rather than later because the next thing he was aware of was being jolted from slumber as his wife crawled in with him.

"I thought you were right behind me?" he asked teasingly, his voice gruff from sleep.

"Shut up." She snuggled up to his back, throwing an arm around his middle.

He checked the alarm clock on his nightstand and stared in disbelief. "Spencer, it's 4 a.m."

"It's 3:58," she corrected him, clearly hoping that would be the end of it.

No such luck. He turned around to face her, smirking wildly now. "Did you seriously stay up till 4 am talking with our daughter?"

"I said shut up," she protested in a mumble. "You got three hours with her in the car."

He chuckled and wrapped both arms around her, his lips finding her cheek. "Remember when we were ecstatic to get five minutes of alone time in a day?" he murmured softly.

"Yeah, that was around the time we started making plans to travel once we got rid of the kids."

"Which we still need to do," he reminded her, smirking at her choice of words. "What do you say, Spencer Jill Hastings-Cavanaugh? Will you go to Paris with me? London? Rome?"

She sighed and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. "I'd go anywhere with you and you know it."

He knew that parting with their daughter again in two days would be difficult for both of them. He knew that letting their children go was an utmost painful affair.

But he also knew they had so much to look forward to. He'd always wanted to see the world. He'd fantasized about it on the bus rides that took him to Radley to visit his mother, and within the walls of a juvenile detention hall, and during his time on house arrest in the same dwelling as the girl who made his life a living hell. He'd envisioned simply packing up and disappearing into the sunset, eager for what the world had to offer him because he knew that whatever it was, it had to be better than here.

But never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine he'd have a companion. Someone who would share his enthusiasm over the earth's beauties, give him reasons to laugh during flights and train rides, and make love with him in a plethora of different hotel rooms across the globe. Someone who lit up his life every single day, whether they were off on crazy adventures or simply tucked underneath a blanket in their cozy little home.

They still had a lifetime ahead of them. A lifetime of new, exciting opportunities they'd never been in a position to realistically consider before.

And as he pulled Spencer closer in the dead of the night, he vowed to cherish each and every day.


End file.
